


a universal language

by whooves



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Drabble, Gen, it's really just Marius being sad and Rose being compassionate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whooves/pseuds/whooves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dimension cannon takes Rose Tyler to the Café Musain, in the aftermath of the June Rebellion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a universal language

**Author's Note:**

> Short drabble, was basically my transition from writing for Doctor Who to writing for Les Mis!

As she presses the jump button, Rose Tyler feels the sharp tug in her stomach, and is carried off to another place in time and space. The dimension cannon isn’t very accurate, but the stars are going out, and she has to try. She bites back a scream and swallows down the bile threatening to rise.

She’s suddenly on her knees in what looks like a dilapidated, war-torn restaurant. Hands on the dirty floor, she crawls to the wall and leans against it, closing her eyes for a few long moments. When she opens them, she sees a young man, probably just a year or two shy of her own age. He sits at one of the few unbroken, still-standing tables, with his head bowed.

“Excuse me,” she says, and when his head turns, his eyes are red, but dry.

“Mademoiselle?” he asks tiredly. His face is kind, but it’s his eyes that strike her deep. They look so very old, and Rose recognizes the loss inside them. They look like the eyes she’s trying to find. She moves closer until he’s an arm’s length away. It takes her a moment, but she reaches back on her small knowledge of French and tries to pull it to her mouth.

“Je…cherche le médecin,” she stutters through, half-sure of her words. The man before her studies her clothes very carefully, but does not comment. When he looks back into her eyes, his are filling with tears. His hands lie on the table and he is very still, except for the movements of his head.

“Il n’y a pas de médecin ici, mais les fantômes des morts.” His head dips to stare at the barren table again. Rose knows enough French to bow her head and mumble an apology. She begins to turn and leave, but he raises a shaky hand to her elbow. “¿Restons avec moi?” She nods, and sits beside him in silence. After several minutes of silence, he begins to talk in soft, low tones. Rose can only understand phrases and words, and it’s hard for her to follow the narrative. But there’s something in his heavy tone that makes her understand the importance of hearing this through.

As his story goes on, previously repeated names begin to disappear, and Rose bows her head in respect. After a long silence she looks up, and he catches her gaze out of the corner of his eye.

Because it’s what she knows how to do, and it’s what she’s been taught, she extends her hand. He looks at it for a long moment, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and loosely places his hand over her own on the table in front of them.


End file.
